This Is a Story about Love

This Is A Story about Love ((And Ways to Find It))

By TechnoPOP

Addison is your average piano prodigy about to enter college with a depressive mother, a workaholic father, and no love life. Things slowly begin to change as Addison realizes who he is all with the help of a mysterious boy at a coffee shop.

Reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed. malexmale

Chapter One: The Romantic Endeavors of a Lonely Boy

And so, the world began, evolution came about, there were a lot of wars, people had lots of babies, and then I was born. Eighteen years after that, I had to go into the real world of college, and at college we learn about evolution, wars, people and their lots of babies. Like I care.

It's not like I don't want an education or anything, it's just that I don't even know what I want to do with my life yet. Do I want to write for a living, or will I become the doctor my parents always dreamed I would be? Being a doctor would be bad, the pay check is obviously very nice, but writing is something that I've wanted to do ever since I realized I was actually good at it. Could I look at myself in the mirror everyday and say that I was proud of who I was for what I did?

That is the big problem that I just can't seem to answer. My high school career just ended, and I realized that throughout my four years, I did nothing but create. And now, I have to follow what some textbook tells me about methods of treating people if I become a doctor. I can't just go a set way and be happy with it; I've got to explore new venues. I've got to.

No one seems to realize my need for creation except for me, it's like everyone else thinks that I'm some kind of fool for wanting to change the world through words-not actions. There is only but so much one person can do in life, but if I can write and make my name known for decades after I died, I believe my life would be more worthwhile.

"Addison, please come in here," said my mother in her too-polite voice. It drives me crazy. My mother was pin-up perfect, everything about her just poured absolute faultlessness. Her hair was always in her standard bun in the back of her head, she had very thick black hair so it looked good for a woman her age. She always wore the same style outfit, a dress that didn't seem to flatter her at all. My mother was just a step above from being a robot.

I stepped into our parlor that had a grand piano right in the middle of it, and two Victorian style couches surrounded by bookcases. The room itself was a pale blue with wooden floors. It was a typical room for someone who was elderly, but my parents weren't. It's just that they only had one child who grew up, so they didn't make things kid friendly anymore. My mother was sitting in one of the Victorian couches adjacent from the window that looked off into the streets of Manhattan.

"Yes?" I asked politely.

"Would you mind going to that new coffee shop and getting me some of their signature tea?" asked my mother. I didn't know coffee shops had signature teas. But I'm not one to judge what a coffee shop has or doesn't have.

"Which one?" I asked graciously once more.

"It's the new one," she answered gazing off into the distance. That didn't help me at all.

My mother wasn't like ordinary mothers. When she was much younger, she was diagnosed with depression, and seemingly with age things just got worse for her. She would sometimes pay attention, but otherwise, she would always seem stuck in her own world. My father on the other hand, absolutely adores her and wants to get the wife that he fell in love with back. He constantly tells me to do whatever she asks, so that maybe she'd snap back into her old self. I don't even know what her old self is, but my dad has never lost hope yet. She must've been some great woman if my dad didn't lose his faith.

"I'll be back soon," I said while getting my black jacket off of the mahogany coat rack, "I think I'm going to walk there, so it might take me a little while."

"That's okay, there's no rush. I just need the tea," she said looking at me, but not seeing. Her voice was airy, and I actually couldn't wait to get outside of the house.

I stepped out into the cool New York air of our townhouse in Manhattan. It was a little chilly although it was the beginning of summer; I thought global warming was supposed to take care of the cold. I suppose Al Gore was feeding me false information, that crazy democrat.

I was looking forward to spending time with myself so I would be able to collect my thoughts about the direction my life was headed. I applied and got into a college right here in New York, but I haven't told my parents about it. The school is for creative writing, film…music. Things I actually care about and wouldn't mind doing for the rest of my life. It seems like I always have to live up to this high expectation of other people, but everything was completely fine if I let myself down because my life wasn't mine to live. My life was what my father wanted.

So many sob stories begin like that, I know. But it's a pretty big problem when you're actually dealing with it. I have every power to tell my father that I want to be a writer, but I'm not sure if I can actually muster up the courage to do it. Everyday I live seems to make it harder and harder for me to tell him, so why don't I tell him now and get it over with? I'm terrified of breaking his heart.

The cool summer air felt comfortable on my skin, it was the perfect day to go lounge around Broadway, or listen to street performers. It just felt like that kind of day. Even during the midday heat, everything seemed to calm and tranquil, even for Manhattan.

I turned the first corner of my street and continued walking forward to where shops started to emerge from the brick buildings. Taking a stroll so casual was something so relaxing even though I was out on a mission. I want to take a while to get back home because being in that house is slowly driving me crazy. I always have to be on guard and make sure to do things on time so that my mother wouldn't have a meltdown. Sometimes I forget associating her as my mother because she has never acted like one to me.

It's not like I'm miserable or anything that my mother wasn't there for me, because she was. It's just that it seemed like no matter what I did, she just didn't care. I could create global peace, eliminate world hunger, find the cure for cancer, but still that wouldn't be enough to get her attention. She'd probably just ask me to go out and get orange juice or something.

The one thing that she did appreciate me doing was playing the piano. My grandmother told me that when my mother was little she absolutely adored the piano, but she never played because she didn't have "piano fingers". It was the one thing that made my mother a little envious of me…or proud, I can't seem to tell the difference. When she bought a piano for me, I was about six years old, so she expected me to be some kind of prodigy, and it turns out I was. I absolutely adored baroque music, and most classical pieces.

I would play her a song every night and I still do to this day, she would sit there and watch. But she would actually listen to what I was playing, it was truly interesting to her how ever time I place a finger on one of the piano keys, a beautiful note came out, and I swear I could hear her heart flutter. So every night, I would spin for her a new melody, a new dream so that she can see me as a little more than useless.

She was the most alive whenever I played. I would see a smile grace her always expressionless mouth, and it would make me feel good about myself because I didn't want to do anything else except please my mother. In reality, that's all sons and daughters want, even though they are to stubborn to say it...pleasing my mother made me feel successful in what I did.

I turned the next corner to the street where the coffee shop resided. The coffee shop has been around for a while, but depending on the time of day and what day it is will bring people about. Today, however, there was no one in the shop besides a seemingly new employee. Or at least an employee I haven't seen before. I usually come to this coffee shop at least three times a week on days where no one is inside, the people that actually work at the shop became good friends of mine because we have the same dreams and aspirations, or something close to it. The people that would normally work would be a cycle between three people, Blake, Piper, and Lindsay, but now there was a new kid.

Usually at this coffee shop there aren't many employees because the workers are usually people that can keep up with a constant schedule because their other jobs or educational pursuits were pretty flexible. Typically people that worked at this particular coffee shop were the artsy or musician type. When I was about to enter the coffee shop, I got my first glimpse of a new employee, I'm not sure what came over me but I just kept walking so I could get a better look.

It was a boy, with gorgeous blonde hair, and a soft face. He looked so kind from a distance, but untouchable at the same time. I really wasn't sure whether or not to go into the shop to see such and angelic person. I have never in my entire existence have seen such a boy that looked so…beautiful. My heart started beating rapidly.

The next thing I knew, I was at the end of the block. I quickly turned around and headed back to the coffee shop, but this time I would go in and talk to the boy. I walked past a few boutiques and I finally came across the shop, but again I just walked past. I walked past exactly four times and each time, the boy became even more beautiful. I was afraid that the beauty would end if I was to get closer to him, but something had drawn me to him.

I can just go in quickly, get the tea, and leave. Okay.

I opened the door to the coffee shop and heard the chime ring announcing that someone entered the place. The boy who was busy doing something behind the counter looked up, and I completely melted. His blonde hair was a little long, and bangs swept across his flawless face, he had these enchanting emerald green eyes that I was completely afraid to look into, afraid that I might not be able to come out. I have never seen such a person.

"Welcome!" he said almost too cheerily, but it was with genuine feeling, "Can I help you with anything?" His voice was so melodic; it reminded me of one of my favorite melodies on the piano. There has to be something wrong with me.

"Do you sell tea here?" I asked as though I was new to the place. I can't let him think that I'm not a regular.

"Umm, I think so…what kind of tea?" he asked while his green eyes seemed to study me.

"Anything really, I'm up for something new," I said casually looking at the row of coffee beans that were on the wall, I didn't want to look at him again because I could feel the blood slowly rushing to my face.

"Okay…" I heard him shuffling around trying to find out a flavor that looked, sounded, or smelled good. It was easy to tell that he was new to the shop, and it was completely adorable.

"Are you new here? I come here a lot, and I've never met you before," casually while watching him scuffle through the various bags of teas.

"Hm? Oh yeah…I am new, this is actually my first day on the job," he said while finally choosing an orange bag and placing it on the counter, "I'm really nervous to tell you the truth; you're the first costumer I've seen all day! Anyway, I'm not sure if the tea I chose out is that good though…so please forgive me if it isn't!" he said worriedly, my heart quivered at the sound of his sweet voice.

"I'm sure the tea will be fine, relax. Just as a little side note, you shouldn't freak out in front of your costumers," I said trying to sound as nice as possible. I need to keep talking to him, but how do I make conversation!? What happened to my plan?

"Oops," he laughed a little, my heart completely jumped, I'm surprised it didn't come out of my body yet, "I'll remember that next time, but at least you're a regular, so I don't have to worry about losing business" he said looking on the bright side of things.

"What's your name by the way?" I asked him, he didn't seem to have a name tag on.

"Shoot! I knew I forgot something…my nametag…umm…haha…sorry about that but my name is Kyler," he said. It was a very unusual name.

"What is it?"

"It's Dutch, my parents were born in Denmark," he said explaining his strange name. It was a name that suited him very well, because he was a strange boy.

"Can I ask what yours is? Since you come often, I'd like to know who you are," he said in an outgoing way.

"My name's Addison and I have no idea where it comes from," I said heedlessly.

"Isn't that usually a girl's name?"

"Yeah, but not in my case," I said trying to avoid any puns he was going to direct to me.

"It's a pretty cool name. I like it, it goes well with you," he said while flashing me a smile. It was like he wasn't afraid to say things I wish I could say to him.

My heart was pumping so furiously, I didn't know why though. There was no reason for me to feel this way about anyone...especially a guy. But the fact that he was a guy seemed to have nothing to do with it. It was just the fact that he was one of the most beautiful people I've ever laid my eyes on. No one has ever captured my interest this much, and it feels like every second I spend with him I fall more and more into this trance that I can't fully understand. Maybe there is something wrong with me, something seriously wrong.

"Thanks, yours does too," I said while starting an awkward pause. I could lightly see the blonde boy beside me blush, but it was probably just the lighting of the coffee shop, or I'm just wishing.

We stood there watching each other, trying to figure out who the other person was without saying anything. I wanted to know more about this boy, but I'm not sure how to actually find out more. I feel as though asking him a question about who he was wasn't the right thing to do. I needed to learn on my own.

"Oh! Your tea!" he said breaking the silence while handing me the orange bag. The bag was labeled "Mango Passion Fruit". It sounded absolutely delicious.

"This looks like a good flavor," I said, "I guess you're better at this job than you know," IDIOT! Why am I saying such stupid things?

"Thanks," he smiled again, his emerald eyes began dancing, "It's three fifty," he said as finality.

I pulled out a five dollar bill from my Che Guevara wallet (My personal hero), and handed it to the boy standing behind the cash register.

He smiled as he watched me put my wallet back in my pocket, "You didn't seem like a socialist to me."

"Many people say that, I'm not even sure what political standing I am, but socialism seems to make more sense to me. Besides, Che Guevara is pretty awesome," I said while he handed me the bag of tea. I noticed that he forgot to ask if I wanted a bag with it, but I forgave him, this is after all his first day on the job.

"I'll look into it so we have something to talk about next time you come in," he said sweetly. I don't think he even realized the kind of impact on me. He seemed like such a kind person, genuinely, we just met today and he's telling me that he's going to research so that we'd have something to talk about. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest.

"You don't need to do that, I'm sure we'd find out something to talk about anyway," I said, trying not to let him have extra work to do.

"I live for debating, to tell you the truth. I think it'd be interesting if I found out more, you seem like you'd be pretty good at debating," he said smiling. He always gave such a beautiful, authentic smile.

"Fine, then we'll debate next time I see you," I said smiling, I was actually looking forward to that, "Well I've got to go, so I'll see you next time?"

"Yeah, I work Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, just so you know. I'll be here around this time." he said. It seemed like he actually wanted me to come back, and I just felt so special that I was able to make someone as beautiful as him want me back.

"Okay, I'll be back then," I said while opening the door, and hearing the bells chime as I was exiting, "Bye!"

"I'll see you next time," he said as I was shutting the door, I walked past the coffee shop and turned the corner.

I can't believe I just met the most beautiful person in the entire world! He was so pretty...and interesting too. A person that seemed so kind was really rare to find in this changing world, but him…he was so…perfect. He was almost inhuman. Maybe I'm just overreacting but he seemed to exceed any expectations that I had for anyone in the entire world. But he was a guy. A guy!

I turned the next corner of the street, on the road that led to my family's town home. All of my worries about what to do with my life seemed to be erased, I felt so refreshed, and so much better than I have in a while. I was completely stress free, and I think it was because I met such a gorgeous boy. Okay, maybe I really am overreacting, but I didn't know by a first meeting someone could have such an impact on me.

Opening the door to my house, I found my mother in the same position she was in when I left. There was no sign of my father; I guess he's didn't stop by for lunch.

"Hey mom," I said walking into the parlor, I kissed her on the cheek and she looked at me, "I got the tea."

"Would you mind making me some?" she said her voice airy again.

"Not at all," I said while leaving the parlor. I took out the orange bag that Kyler gave me…Kyler…Kyler is really a cute name.

I put on the tea kettle, and sat in the kitchen waiting for it to sound off. Or kitchen was hardly used because my mother never cooked, and my father was always too busy to feed me. I've tried cooking myself, but nothing ever seems to come out right, so I live on Chinese take out and TV Dinners. It's not a very healthy lifestyle.

I heard the sound of the tea kettle, and I poured some of the hot water into my mother's favorite mug. I dipped the package into the hot water until it turned a healthy color. This Mango Passion Fruit tea turned a deep orange the more I dipped it into the boiled water. I then lifted the package out, walked back into the parlor and gave my mother the tea.

"Thank you, Addison," she said looking at me, "Can you play me something?" she asked. How could I refuse?

I sat at the big black grand piano that had played so many melodies before. It allowed for my mother to be happy, and it allowed me to express myself in the most beautiful form—music. It was my soul, and my dream, it was everything that symbolized me. I began pressing the ivory colored keys…pouring my heart out. I was playing for him.